


The Great Dating Game

by Links



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, BAMF John Watson, Case Fic, Drag Queen Sherlock, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Smut, Irene Cockblocker Extraordinaire, M/M, Sherlock and Irene working together, Snark, Speed Dating, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:23:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Links/pseuds/Links
Summary: “What do you think of a bet? Something to spice up the dreary evening that we have to spend here?”“I’m shocked, Irene. I would have thought stalking and getting our harasser arrested would be exciting enough for you.”NOW COMPLETE!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PatPrecieux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/gifts).



> Another plot bunny who wouldn't leave me alone until I caved in...  
> Hope you'll like it :)
> 
> Gifted to PatPrecieux for her ever lovely comments - I sincerely hope it'll make you smile!

“It is even worse than I thought.”

 

He heard Irene cackle to his left.

 

“I should admit that the organising committee seems fully committed to this event.”

 

“In the same way as the persons in charge of the decoration, I think,” Sherlock retorted, eyeing with a growing disgust the scene in front of him.

 

What a disaster, he thought.

 

You would think that, with their experience – the company was after all one of the leaders in their market – they would have opted for some originality. Or at least a modicum of good taste.

 

But no.

 

_Hot in love_  has instead decided to full steam ahead in the tackiest, schmaltziest, downright sickening Valentine theme. Sherlock felt heartily sorry for the persons taking part in that absurd dating game – which was nothing more than an elaborate speed-dating evening session with some extras. He has felt even more sorry – if such a thing was possible – since he has been informed of the exorbitant price the poor sods had to pay.

 

Playing with her hot pink, heart-shaped invitation card, Irene whispered “It could have been worse, mind you.”

Sherlock raised a doubtful eyebrow.

“They could have asked  _us_  to participate in this… whatever it is,” Irene explained. “In fact, they did.”

“And what did you reply?” Sherlock asked.

He has a very clear idea of Irene’s no doubt colourful answer to the  _Dating Game’s_  organizing committee, but it was always more fun to hear it from her.

Irene nearly purred with pleasure.

“Only if I was allowed to chat up women and if you could go wild on the dance floor. In full drag, of course.”

Sherlock snorted. He would have paid to see the face of the representative of the very conservative – and heteronormative to boot – company _Hot in Love_ when he has heard this.

“You know these days are over, Irene.”

She shrugged – a gesture which always drew men’s eyes to her pale, flawless skin as well as her cleavage, which she always took care to highlight in a subtle way.

“More’s the pity. You were stunning, darling.”

She turned her heard in his direction and Sherlock groaned when he recognized the impish look in her green gaze.

“Whichever foolish idea you have concocted in your mind, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hush. I never have had a foolish idea, something that you as my associate should know full well.”

She ignored Sherlock’s ironic sound and resumed.

“What do you think of a bet? Something to spice up the dreary evening that we have to spend here?”

“I’m shocked, Irene. I would have thought stalking and getting our harasser arrested would be exciting enough for you.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Nice try. As if that nasty piece of shit wouldn’t be found and dealt with as soon as we set foot in that room.”

“You seem very sure of yourself,” Sherlock quietly replied, observing the first participants in the _Dating Game_ still loitering in the lobby.

Truth was they haven’t yet succeeded in pinning the harasser’s profile down. Some things about the way he operated remained unclear and it was bothering him.

Strong fingers suddenly gripped his chin, forcing him to turn his head towards Irene.

“Eyes on me, _ma belle_.”

“Irene! Don’t call me like that…”

She paid no attention to his protest, her vivid gaze focused on him.

“We’ll find him like we always do, okay? We have never failed before. And we don’t intend to do so, now, don’t we?” The look in her eyes reflected her absolute determination.

They stared at each other in silence during long seconds before Sherlock answered.

“Of course we don’t.”

A bright smile creased Irene’s lips. She released her chin to pat her cheek, like a mother cheering her child.

“Irene, stop that!”

“Don’t growl, Pooh Bear. And now to speak of that bet…”

He groaned.

“God, Irene. Would you drop it?”

“Certainly not.” She was already assessing the first persons brave enough to enter the Valentine-shaped cave of doom. “What about… The first one to catch our man may ask the other a favour?”

Her innocent mien wasn’t fooling him in the slightest.

“Which kind of favour?”

“Oh Sherlock…” she leaned in, batting her eyelashes at him. “I do so want to see you dance again…”

He knew very well which dance she was talking about.

The kind you certainly never learned in a dancing class, for sure.

He shook his head.

“I’m too old for this…”

“You’re talking nonsense, dear. You’re thirty-three, not eighty.”

Her insistence was setting his teeth on edge. Couldn’t she see that it was a serious matter? They weren’t here to make bets or to remind each other of their crazy days at university. They were here to catch a criminal. End of the story.

But one look at Irene’s unruffled face made him relent. For her, detective business has always been a game – who was the cleverest of them both, who will find out first the culprit’s true motives, who will deduce the fastest?

They were evenly matched in that regard, even though each of them had his assets… and his weaknesses.

“What do you suggest then?” he gruffly asked.

It wouldn’t be long before the majority of the participants in the Dating Game invaded the room and Sherlock was eager to start working.

“I knew you could be convinced,” Irene said, laughing at his impatience. “Fine, old man. If I catch our man first, you’ll leave your coat and your suit in your flat and let your inner drag queen come to play. And if you are very very good…”

She leaned in to whisper “I’ll take a pic and send it to Mycroft.”

This very idea startled him into laughter.

“Okay. And if I win…”

He hesitated. He knew what he would like to ask Irene – he has tried to egg her in that direction for months now…

She raised an eyebrow, as if she could read his mind.

“Do your worst, darling.”

“You will ask Molly out.”

For once he had the pleasure of leaving her speechless. But Irene quickly regained her self-control.

“Sherlock, you can’t ask that. Molly… She doesn’t…”

“She does,” he relentlessly interrupted. “Trust me.”

She stared at him for a while before shaking her head and letting out a small laugh.

“You’re really the devil, you know.”

“I learned from the best,” he retorted, giving her a conniving wink. “So, do you agree? Shall we shake hands on it?”

Irene didn’t waste any time, reaching out, hand outstretched.

“And now darling, the game is on!” she whispered to him before disappearing in the crowd.

Sherlock smiled. One thing was sure – life was never dull with Irene.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is our first participant in the Great Dating Game, Mister John Watson himself!  
> ;-)

As soon as he set foot in the main room, John knew he has made a huge mistake.

Gosh. He should never have allowed Mike to convince him to take part in this… dating game.

_More like a dating disaster!_

He groaned when he glimpsed the hot pink hearts strewn everywhere, the glitzy banners fluttering above their heads and he couldn’t help but snort when he discovered the company’s motto on the little (hot pink heart-shaped) label on which he had to write his name before pinning it to his shirt.

_“Hot in love – for hot single people seeking love!”_

And to think that these people won thousands of pounds every month with their online matchmaking services…

“Hey Johnny!”

Mike came closer, red-faced with excitement, beaming like a young boy who has been told there was no school today. Quite obviously he didn’t share the same reservations as John.

“Look at the ladies!” he not so softly whispered to his friend. “Got my eye on this blond chick near the bar… You think I’m allowed to chat her up a bit before the whole thing starts?”

“Don’t really know, mate. Why don’t you ask the lady over there?”

He pointed out as subtly as he could the dark-haired woman, dressed to the nines, with high heels that could certainly be considered as lethal weapons. Mike glanced at her before turning  his head away.

“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing but… I found her intimidating.”

John smothered a grin. In all truth he couldn’t deny the woman – “Patricia” if the label pinned to her low-cut top was to be believed – had great poise. And a smile as sharp as a scalpel.

Just the thought of his beloved instrument – one that he wouldn’t use anymore – made his heart sink deeper. He suddenly felt old. And completely useless. A feeling which was plaguing him with an alarming frequency these days.

“Hey, mate. You ok?”

Behind the lenses of his spectacles Mike was staring at him with a worried frown on his face.

John forced himself to smile.

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

“Okay…” Mike replied with a friendly tap on his shoulder. “We’re not here only for me. I also want you to enjoy yourself, right?”

Easier said than done, he mused. But he didn’t have the heart to see Mike’s enthusiasm being deflated by his own pessimism.

“Right! And if you want to talk to that woman, Mike, you should just…”

He looked up, determined to convince Mike to get a move on the lady he has seen earlier on the bar, when he was left speechless.

Next to Patricia, who was greeting the participants, was standing a real Adonis.

_Hello Mister Sexy. You ought to come with a warning._

Tall, fine, delicate features framed by dark curls which surely made hairdressers weep with envy, pale, flawless skin that John would love to make it blush.

He suddenly imagined Mister Calendar over there lying down on his bed, squirming and moaning while John was sucking him off.

“Ahum.”

Startled out of his fantasy, John owlishly blinked at his friend.

“When you’ll finish ogling Tall Guy over there,” Mike said with an amused grin “you’ll tell me what I should do.”

John felt his cheeks heating up.

“Mike… I didn’t want you finding out like…”

“Johnny. I am fat not blind. I knew when we were still students, okay? That’s old news, mate.”

He couldn’t believe his ears.

“But… and… You’re…” he stammered.

Mike shook his head while glancing at him, not looking very impressed.

“You’re not going to ask me if I’m okay with you being bi, right? Because it would just be insulting, mind you.”

John opened his mouth before shutting it.

“Right. Thanks, anyway.”

“Don’t mention it. And if you prefer flirting with Mister _I’m Proud of my Hair_  rather than keeping me company here…”

“Now _that’s_ insulting, Mike.”

They grinned at each other like schoolboys about to play a trick on their teacher.

“Besides,” John mused, stealing a look at his target, “he’s way out of my league.”

Mike rolled his eyes before grasping John’s wrist and pulling him forward. The gesture was so sudden John nearly stumbled against the (hot pink heart-shaped) table. Good thing he has got rid of the bloody walking stick, he thought, before protesting.

“Mike!”

“Come along, John!” Mike cheerfully replied, still dragging him along in his wake. “You never got lucky making eyes at someone from afar, so do muster some courage, we’re going to speak to him!”

We? John thought, a bit horrified.

But before he could reply, Mike released him and planted himself in front of Mister Sexy – or  rather “Will”, as the label on his jacket revealed.

“Hi Will!” Mike called out to him. “We were wondering, my friend and I…”

Whichever question Mike had in store for him didn’t seem to interest Will, as he didn’t look up from the list he was currently examining. Amidst his embarrassment, John felt a surge of annoyance – what was so interesting in this bloody list, anyway?

The woman next to him, who was observing them with amusement, gave her colleague a slight nudge in the ribs.

“Will”, she said, pronouncing his name in a way which made John frown, “if you would be so kind to listen to this gentleman…”

Her green eyes met John’s and whatever she could read in his gaze made her smile get wider.

Cheeks flushing, he turned his head away.

Just in time to see Will finally raising his head.

He immediately forgot any annoyance he has ever felt towards the man.

He was even more stunning from where John was standing.

Blue-green eyes, a perfect Cupid’s bow in his upper lip and the slightest hint of stubble on his cheeks…

“Oh! Sorry, I was lost in…Never mind. How can I help you, gentlemen?” Will asked, looking at Mike before his gaze flicked over John, who bit the inside of his cheek to avoid saying the first (and completely unsuitable, at least in public) answer which came to his mind.

Gosh. That voice.

He was completely done for.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for our second participant... *grin*

Irene was observing with great amusement the former soldier on her left staring hungrily at Sherlock, while her friend remained perfectly oblivious to the eye-fucking he was currently receiving.

_He’s completely gone on you and you don’t even see it, you wanker!_

She shook her head.

Men. She pitied them sometimes.

She turned her head away, resuming her examination of the room, which was getting more and more crowded. According to reliable information, their harasser was to be found among the _Dating Game_ ’s participants. Of course, it would be like open season for him, she thought with resentment.

She was looking forward to catching this abuser and leaving him in Lestrade’s care before going home and taking a very hot bath.

She might even give her new vibrator a try, she mused.

_And until then you would avoid thinking of Molly Hooper, eh?_

Yes, Irene thought. That’s the plan.

She had no idea why Sherlock was so convinced she stood a chance with her, should Irene ever ask her out.

_Not going to happen, thank you!_

When she was younger – and a lot more naïve – she has made the mistake of falling in love with a university friend. Irene couldn’t help but cringing when she remembered how the girl, after she has not so subtly tested the waters, has shot her down.

It has been said in a perfectly nice way.

And Irene has been perfectly humiliated.

From this moment on she has applied two rules as regards her relationships.

_Don’t fall in love._

_And especially with heterosexual women._

Something she has scrupulously observed until she met Molly Hooper, a former classmate of Sherlock.

Molly, that sum of paradoxes.

Molly, who seemed constantly afraid of speaking aloud yet didn’t hesitate to pull Sherlock a peg or two when he was too obnoxious.

Molly, who fell in love with the worst persons – all male – ever yet still believed in happy endings.

Molly, who blushed deeply every time Irene made a lewd joke yet sometimes dared to reply.

This inability to get the other woman, to be able to know in advance how she was going to respond was grating on Irene’s nerves. It was maddening.

“And… hum… you’re going to participate?”

Ah. Nudged by his friend, Former Soldier – “John” according to the badge pinned on his leather jacket – has finally decided to make a move on Sherlock. Irene fought the temptation to roll her eyes.

_Why don’t you ask him if he doesn’t fancy a quick fuck in the gents? It would be a lot easier!_

At least she would have done so if she were in his stead.

Sherlock looked nonplussed at John. Irene was expecting him to deliver a harsh answer, shooting down Former Soldier’s hope at the same time. But what she got was quite different – Sherlock’s ears turned red and John’s smile got wider.

_Oh dear._

At this moment, Irene deeply regretted not being able to film this. It was worth some months of relentless teasing at least.

Sherlock – “Will” – cleared his throat.

“No… I’m here to help participants like you, that’s all.”

Former Soldier shuffled his feet, sending coy glances Sherlock’s way.

Irene could read on his face the question he would love to ask.

_Are you free for a drink afterwards?_

She smothered a grin behind her list. Looking at people hitting on Sherlock who, for all his earlier experience, didn’t know how to deal with amorous advances, especially when he would like to reciprocate them, never ceased to be funny.

All amused thoughts fled Irene’s mind when she heard the laugh.

A very familiar laugh.

_No, it can’t be…_

Her heart pulsed hard in her chest as she was scanning the crowd.

_It can’t be her. She’s not on the list and…_

And then she saw her. Chestnut hair piled into a high bun, a light make-up which set off her deep brown eyes and a black trouser suit which made her ass perfectly mouth-watering – Molly Hooper was stunning.

And likely to recognize her and Sherlock at any moment, blowing their cover.

_Fuck._

Remembering at the last minute Sherlock’s fictitious name, she hissed “Will” between her teeth, not daring to attract any additional attraction.

Fortunately for her “Will” immediately reacted, breaking off his awkward exchange of glances with John, who looked completely put out at this interruption.

Irene shot him a fake smile – “Excuse me, I need some help from my colleague” – before grasping Sherlock’s wrist and pulling him close.

“What’s the matter?” he whispered. “Did you find him?”

“Molly’s here,” she said between clenched teeth. “I hope for your sake that’s not your idea of a joke…”

She immediately thought better of it after having glanced at his face. Sherlock looked completely surprised and annoyed at the same time.

“Get a grip, Irene! What would be the point?”

She could admit he was right.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just that…”

_I didn’t expect her to be here. In the middle of a speed dating session with a yet-to-be-found harasser._

“It’s okay, old thing,” Sherlock replied with a reassuring smile. “We’ll find him.”

Irene’s answer was lost in the voice suddenly booming from the loudspeakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Please take your seats. The Great Dating Game is about to begin!”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happened during John's speed-dating seance - and my answer to the fat shaming which has taken place in "Sherlock".  
> Enjoy!

“…and then I really felt like a fool, you know?”

John tried to sigh as discreetly as he could and glanced at the timer set on each table. Still three minutes to go.

Three minutes to bear with Kelly’s tale of woe.

“I’m sorry to tell you all this but it’s still so fresh in my mind!”

Without a doubt, John thought, while making some indistinct noise which might be interpreted like he was commiserating with the young woman in front of him. It was obvious she still wasn’t over her last break-up and while John could feel some sympathy for her – been there, done that after all – he wasn’t here to offer her a shoulder to cry on.

He morosely looked at the list he has been given at the start of the speed-dating event – a list which remained completely unticked yet. While he has been chatting amicably with the women in front of him – at least until Kelly – he hasn’t felt any spark during their discussions.

In fact the only person who has truly caught his eye since he has entered the room… All discretion forgotten, John craned his neck, looking straight ahead, above the rows of the _Dating Game_ participants.

Will was standing back to the bar, examining the persons taking part with an intensity that John would have found disconcerting if he hadn’t felt so jealous of it.

Gosh. He has barely talked to the man and there he was, swooning over him.

_It won’t do at all, Watson!_

But he could admit that if Will was sitting in front of him, staring at him with this clear gaze John had admired when he has talked to him earlier, he would have ticked the box “Want to keep in touch with” in a heartbeat.

Will chose this moment to slightly bend down in order to speak to a man who was nervously looking around, offering John a truly incomparable view from behind.

He smothered groan, not even attempting to get his mind out of the gutter as far as Will was concerned.

_Don’t kid yourself, man. You’re well on your way to being smitten with Mister Sex on Legs over there._

And he couldn’t say he was feeling very chagrined about it.

The only question was – how to let him know John was definitely interested in keeping in touch with him?

_And not in a platonic way, mind you._

Although, if he has correctly judged the blush on Will’s cheekbones when John has asked him earlier if he would mind not taking part in the Dating Game, the man may have cottoned on to John’s intentions.

John smirked. Well, only one way to find out for sure, he thought, already feeling the thrill of the delicious chase awaiting him in the near future.

 

There was a sudden lull in Kelly’s monologue when she took a sip of water, excusing herself with a little smile. John took advantage to discreetly observe Mike, seated next to him at the end of their row. His friend wasn’t faring very well in front of a redhead, who wasn’t even looking at him. Mike was obviously feeling ill at ease, talking a mile a minute in a vain attempt to overcome his own nervousness.

“… and so he replied…”

“I’m sorry,” the redhead – “Jane” according to her badge – broke in, “but I’m not really interested in what you might tell.”

She suddenly stood up, smoothing out her skirt before glancing at Mike, who was staring at her, dumbfounded.

“Next time before you think of speed-dating… Hit the gym first, okay?”

Already incensed by her curt dismissal, John saw red. He leaped to his feet, ready to give a piece of his mind, when he heard right behind him “Is there a problem here?”

He turned round, surprised to see Will standing a few feet from him. When has he moved around? Before he could answer though, Jane recovered first, tossing back her hair and smiling flirtatiously at him.

“None whatsoever. I was just looking for… suitable company.”

She walked to him, putting her hand on his arm.

“Can I interest you in a drink, then?”

Will looked hard at her hand before stepping back out of her reach.

“Women are not my area. And even if you were a man, I wouldn’t be caught going out with someone as narrow-minded as you.”

Jane was rendered speechless before letting out a cry of rage and striding away. Ignoring the stunned silence his reply has created, Will turned to Mike.

“I’m sorry, Sir, for this incident. But it’s nearly time for the gentlemen to rotate seats, so I’m sure you may already move on to the next person…”

He pointed out a table in the row behind him and John saw Mike perking up when he caught sight of the blond chick he has spotted earlier at the bar.

He was already walking towards her when he stopped “Wait!” He turned to John. “Mate, you’re going to be left alone for the next rotation, then!”

John wasn’t the man to ignore such a golden opportunity when it fell right into his lap. He looked up and smiled at Will, who blinked in return.

“Mind if I keep you company?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew John de la fontaine's fables could be used to seduce someone?  
> (yeah, I know, I have a weird mind...)  
> Anyway, enjoy!

It didn’t happen very often – in fact he could count on one hand the number of times this particular feeling occurred – but Sherlock could admit he was bemused by the short man walking alongside him.

_Not so short he couldn’t kiss you if he…_

_Stop it!_

Sherlock groaned with discomfort. Why his treacherous mind has decided to focus on his companion rather than the harasser he was supposed to find among the Dating Game participants, he had no idea.

_Liar._

It was Irene’s fault, he decided. Her and her stupid bet and…

“You’re a quiet one.”

Frowning at this comment that he perceived as a reproach, Sherlock retorted

“Well, you’re not very talkative yourself. Or do you only speak when you’re given the permission to do so, Captain?”

Here we go, he thought when John abruptly stopped, looking up and gaping at him. Sherlock ignored the little voice in his mind stating that it was not a bad look on the former soldier and straightened his shoulders.

He was expecting his companion asking “How do you know I was in the army?” but couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. A bit sad as well. After all, he knew what would happen after he told the other man all he has deduced in his regard – the outraged disbelief, the way the person tried to hide his or her discomfort, screaming he was a liar, he had to have gathered information on them beforehand and wasn’t he a gigantic arsehole?

For the umpteenth time, he wondered why, if people were so easily offended at his deductions, they didn’t pay more attention to all the clues they left lying around.

All these little signs revealing their past, their lies, their bad habits, their dirty little secrets. And Sherlock couldn’t remain silent when they were lying under his gaze, all but screaming at him “Look at me! Look!”

He has made once the mistake to open up to Mycroft in this matter. In his own defence, he still had been young enough to be baffled by people’s reactions. Mycroft had gazed at him in a condescending, almost pitying way before answering “That’s a fact, little brother – people _are_ idiots. It’s a cross we have to bear, poor lonely geniuses that we are. I strongly advise you to work on your poker face and to learn how to state things a bit more… diplomatically if you want to pursue the career in the detective work you seem so keen on.”

Sherlock had snarled then he had already mastered these skills, thank you very much. Of course it had been a brazen lie and Mycroft knew it, the smug bastard.

“Hey, Will! You’re still with me?”

He was brought back to reality by John’s worried voice, allowing himself the pleasure to gaze down at this man. Sherlock always had a fondness for blue eyes and combined with his nice, regular features, it was no wonder he has been drawn to him.

Such a pity the speech brewing in his mind and ready to be delivered would ruin everything.

“I asked you…”

“… how I knew you were in the army, I heard you the first time. Let’s begin with your tanned face or the way you are standing up straight, hands behind your back, an obvious military habit…”

He couldn’t stop himself. Revealing every bit, every information about John, who was staring open-mouthed at him.

And when he finally finished with John’s older brother – estranged from his wife, a fact that John didn’t approve – Sherlock was feeling torn between the familiar elation, the clear joy of being right and the upcoming disappointment of seeing John turning away from him.

_I bet you don’t find me so alluring anymore._

He braced himself, ready to deal with the eventual insults coming from John’s lovely mouth.

“Brilliant.”

Sherlock blinked.

Wait.

What?

“I didn’t think you could turn out to be even more attractive than I thought, but obviously I was wrong,” John said with a roguish smile.

Sherlock’s thoughts crashed to a halt. What has this – _stunning, strange, completely wonderful_ – man just said?

His companion seemed to enjoy him looking taken aback, because he took a step forward, right into Sherlock’s space and leant in, whispering “I don’t have a brilliant mind like yourself, but I still remember this old fable, you know _The Crow and the Fox_ one…”

“Yes?” Sherlock automatically answered, still reeling from the shock of John’s reaction.

The former soldier’s smile turned positively wolfish.

“I bet you can still recite it, can you?”

Sherlock remained silent, unable to think or to look away from John, who didn’t avert his gaze as he carried on

“ _Good day to you, Mister Crow._

_You are a handsome and good looking bird!_

_In truth, if your song is as beautiful as your plumage,_

_You are the Phoenix of this forest_.”

To his horror, Sherlock felt a hearty flush spreading across his face. He cleared his throat, trying to rally his faltering faculties.

“But you forgot the moral of this story - every flatterer lives at the expense of those who take him seriously. With this speech the fox tried to deceive the crow and he succeeded.”

If Sherlock has thought John would finally be rebuffed by his knowledge, he was sorely mistaken. There was instead a growing warmth in John’s gaze, a sweet affection so unexpected and so tempting at the same time that Sherlock bit his lip, for fear of blurting the first thing which came to his mind.

Of course it backfired when John’s gaze lingered on his mouth.

“True,” he admitted in a rough voice. “But I do not intend to deceive you, Will. Not tonight. Not ever, if you let me.”

He looked up, holding Sherlock’s stare.

“Let me in. I promise I’m worth a try.”

Sherlock’s mouth went dry, his mind suddenly invaded by images which were very difficult to banish and forget.

“I…”

At this moment his attention was caught by some point over John’s shoulder. Sherlock raised his head and went livid when he saw Irene walking to him with a thunderous look on her face.

_Oh shit._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen - welcome Irene, Cockcblocker extraordinaire! :-)

“Ladies and gentlemen, we hope you’re enjoying our Dating Game! We know that you’re living very emotional moments, so we would like to offer you now a fifteen-minute break. Don’t hesitate to mingle with our other guests and to get a drink at our bar…”

Edging her way through the flow of participants, who for the most part were chatting and laughing together, Irene was striding towards Sherlock like a missile which has finally found its target.

She has plastered a smile on her face – she had to keep up appearances after all – but inside she was fuming.

What was Sherlock thinking? Flirting shamelessly with his soldier instead of focusing on their case… Or rather, she thought, he wasn’t thinking with his brain. It was the whole problem.

Meanwhile they were running out of time – and they were no closer to getting the harasser arrested. They haven’t yet succeeded in identifying him! This reality left a bitter taste in Irene’s mouth.

During the first round of speed-dating, she has very closely observed the male participants, examining their body language, listening to their speech, watching over their shoulder to read what they each have written on their slips of paper.

“Nice woman, but talks way too much!!!”

“I don’t like blondes.”

“I want to see her again.”

“Dazzling smile.”

All their hopes, their pet peeves, what they wanted (or not) to find in a life or one-night partner… and nothing has aroused her suspicion.

Irritated frustration was gnawing at her.

_He must be here._

It was the next logical step in the harasser’s escalating pattern. He has started by upsetting the women in _Hot in Love’s_ online chat rooms. Then he has hacked their accounts on the website and threatened them if they dared to complain.

But he wouldn’t stop there.

Both Sherlock and her, when examining the case, agreed that their man, now he has cut his teeth on online abuse, would set his sights higher.

“He no longer wants to remain anonymous, an unknown “shadow behind his computer screen” like he said in one of his lasts messages… He intends to be in the front row when it comes to experience his victims’ fear and anguish,” Sherlock concluded with a disgusted frown.

“We’ll catch him before,” Irene retorted.

The plan has seemed so easy back then in the cosy atmosphere of the Baker Street flat, both of them remaining elated by their last success – posing as assistants among the Dating Game event, examining the participants and finding the culprit.

Irene gritted her teeth. She would put this piece of shit under lock and key – with or without Sherlock.

But first she would tell him what she really thought of his behaviour.

 

She was only a few feet away from him and getting closer when Sherlock raised his head and spotted her. In other circumstances Irene would have found his dismayed look, quickly replaced by a smile as fake as her own, very amusing but now it only enraged her further.

“Is something the matter, Patricia?” he asked when she was close enough to hear him.

She flashed him her meanest smile. She was pleased to see him swallowing hard in reaction.

“Just a small detail I would like to discuss with you…”

She glanced at John, who has drawn back a little and was currently frowning at her.

“If you’re not too busy of course!”

John’s gaze flicked over Sherlock. Lover Boy was clearly getting upset about Irene’s interruption and Sherlock’s dithering. Even though she was furious herself, Irene couldn’t help watching with amusement the dilemma in which she was putting her associate.

_Work first, amusement later. Get his number and be done with it – at least for the moment._

She fought to keep her face impassive, even when Sherlock gave a loud sigh, clearly betraying his surrender.

_That’s a good boy._

She was about to reach for him and drag him along with her, whether he wanted it or not, when she heard behind her

“Sherlock?”

Irene froze.

“I thought I had seen you earlier but surely you wouldn’t be caught dead in such a place and… Oh!”

Irene briefly closed her eyes – what a disaster! – before turning her head and greeting the newcomer.

“Hello Molly.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love when the characters are thrown for a loop ^^

“Irene… Oh.”

Molly clapped a hand on her mouth while understanding shone in her dark eyes. No doubt she realized – way too late – that Sherlock and she weren’t here for their pleasure.

“Sherlock?” John repeated, who seemed completely lost.

Sherlock sighed, a complicated sound of irritation and resignation, before exchanging an eloquent glance with Irene, who didn’t waste any time understanding what was going on in his head.

Their cover has just been smashed to smithereens. It was time to change the plan and to add some unexpected elements to it.

Reluctantly Irene gave him a nod, receiving a quick smile in return.

_Don’t think yourself off the hook, Mister My-Libido-Just-Woke-Up._

For the time being, she had other concerns – starting with the woman next to her.

She gently reached out, curving her hand around Molly’s arm.

“Come, Molly. It seems we have some things to talk over…”

Before turning her back on his associate, she saw Sherlock doing the same with his love interest, whispering a few words in the soldier’s ear.

_Good luck with this one, ma belle!_

Fortunately for them, the break was still in full swing and therefore nobody noticed the two women slipping into an empty room, at the back of the building. Irene has barely closed the door behind them that Molly launched into a flow of stuttering apologies

“I’m sorry, Irene, really sorry! I didn’t think you were here for your work and… It’s only when I saw Sherlock’s face that I became aware… Gosh, why should I always put my foot in it!”

She ran a nervous hand through her dark hair, biting her lip and smearing lipstick on her front teeth. The sight sent a flash of arousal straight down Irene’s spine.

She tried her best to ignore this feeling and focused instead on her distraught companion.

“Calm down, Molly,” she said in a soothing voice. “I guarantee you have done nothing wrong.”

Molly looked at her dubiously.

“Seriously? Why are we here then if you’re not going to try repairing the damage I’ve done?”

“Would you be so kind as to listen to me, please?”

Irene became aware that her voice was sharper as intended. Her self-control was slipping and her frustration with both the case and Molly’s unexpected appearance was getting the better of her. Her companion must have felt this because she nodded and sat down with a quiet “Sorry”. Irene fought the temptation to tell her to stop apologizing, replying instead “Thank you.”

She took a deep breath.

_Here we go._

“First of all, you didn’t ruin everything, okay? Granted, neither Sherlock nor I thought you would be here tonight…”

Molly blushed while shrugging.

“A friend of mine talked me into taking part in this…. And it looked like fun, you know?”

Irene didn’t answer. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Molly if she had met any man interesting enough to deserve a second glance, although she had no right to know.

_Keep calm and carry on, woman._

But before she could resume her speech, Molly spoke again.

“I told myself that if I didn’t have any luck with the men in there, I could always enjoy the bar and the dance floor. Seemed like a nice place to see if I could try my hand at chatting up women.”

_What?_

Irene stared at her, flabbergasted. Molly saw her look on her face and misinterpreted it.

“I don’t mean to imply I consider women as consolation prize! It’s just that… I never got the chance to explore… Oh God, I’m making a hash of it, am I?”

She has died and woken up in an alternate universe, she thought. There was no other explanation.

Did Molly seriously say… ?

Irene swallowed hard and counted to five.

Anything to prevent her from walking to Molly and telling her she would be willing to let her explore as much as she would, provided it was with her and no one else.

_God, if Sherlock were here, he would laugh his pretty head off._

She tried not to groan when she saw Molly biting her lip again.

“I would never shame you for anything, Molly. You have to know that.”

A small smile bloomed on Molly’s face.

“And now, let me explain why we’re here tonight exactly…”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Don't kill me, please?

“Okay, Mister Will or Sherlock, whatever your name is… You asked me to follow you here and I did. Now I believe I’m ready to hear what you have to say.”

Looking at John’s determined face, Sherlock sighed. His companion has clearly reached his limit and wasn’t willing to go any further. He took a moment to mourn how quickly the easy going, openly affectionate man has disappeared, leaving in his place this former army captain, who was giving off his best vibes “speak now and don’t give me any shit”.

“First, I didn’t lie to you. I was christened William Sherlock Scott Holmes, if you want to know.”

“And you prefer using your middle name?” John asked in disbelief.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Yes! Everybody says that, why is it so difficult to understand?”

John stared at him a bit longer before shaking his head. Sherlock had time though to see amusement flashing in his dark blue eyes.

“Okay, then. And what are you doing here, exactly? Because somehow I don’t think you’re here just for the fun of it…”

“Depends on what you mean by fun,” Sherlock retorted.

Ignoring the bemused glance John sent his way, he carried on

“Patricia – I mean, Irene – and I created our own detective agency, “Adler & Holmes” six months ago. We have our clients, _Hot in Love_ in this case, but we also help the police when they’re stuck and let me tell you…”

“It’s impossible.”

Sherlock frowned at this interruption.

“What?”

“The police don’t consult amateurs.”

Oh dear God. Not this again.

“After all I’ve deduced in your regard, you really think I would work with an amateur?”

John gave a snort of laughter.

“Gosh. You’re really something, aren’t you?”

Sherlock ignored this comment – how was he supposed to take it, anyway?

“If I take your point, you’re here for… investigating someone?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Getting an online harasser arrested, more precisely. Irene and I believe he’s on the brink of assaulting someone – physically this time.”

“Oh.” John remained silent during a few seconds. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. His companion seemed deep in thought, his fingers absently stroking his chin. He had nice hands, Sherlock noticed, a strong and steady grip.

_No! Not this again! Unless you really want to be eviscerated by Irene’s deep red nails and even sharper tongue._

“So this harasser… You know his face or his name?”

“None of this, I’m afraid.”

“And you expect to pick him out in this crowd just by looking at him?”

Sherlock’s first impulse was to reply something sarcastic and sharp enough to rebuff the little man who dared to challenge his methods of investigation. But he forced himself to consider his unexpected companion, who has declared him “Brilliant” when others would have insulted him. His struggle to keep his indifferent, slightly amused front was etched into every line of his face. Deep down in his blue eyes, the spark of interest – and not a carnal one this time, although it was never far from John’s thoughts as far as Sherlock was concerned – the thrill of danger was shining.

This man craved action, Sherlock realized.

He didn’t even try to repress the long shiver running through him. He has never met someone like John – someone who seemed to have the ability to see him as he was, not as he should be according to society’s standards.

And even more important – someone appreciating what he saw.

He cleared his throat.

“Why, Captain…”

“Watson. But I’m not a captain any longer.”

“If I’m a consulting detective – the only one in the world, for your information – you can be whatever you want to be.”

A true smile graced John’s lips. He took a step forward. Sherlock found himself mesmerized by the way his fair hair glinted by lamplight.

“Has anyone told you, Sherlock Holmes, you’re a dangerous man?”

The soft voice, which has befuddled his mind and roused long-buried desires, was back and Sherlock felt himself powerless against its power.

If he was dangerous, John Watson was the true threat.

“But you love danger, don’t you, Captain?”

“God yes,” John growled before pressing himself against Sherlock, who was pushed against the wall. He retaliated by draping his arms around John’s neck and drawing him closer.

“You make me crazy…” John growled against his neck before opening his mouth and biting it gently.

“You’re not playing fair, Captain,” Sherlock murmured. He drew back a little, just enough to elicit a whine from John’s throat. He buried his fingers in John’s hair while his free hand found his companion’s waist.

“But after all, neither am I.”

He tilted his head down and without caring about anyone who might find them there, he kissed him. At first soft and slow, then hard and deep. And John was responding in kind, lips tasting, tongue dancing in his mouth, teeth nipping at red, abused skin. A snog which set Sherlock aflame and propelled him into a sensual heaven the like of which he has never experienced. He gripped John’s sweater tighter. Now he has found him, he would never let this man go.

John’s left hand was stroking his ribs through his shirt, slowly dropping lower.

_Yes, please, please…_

He was drowning in pure pleasure until he heard right behind him “Shall I bring a bucket of water or will my voice be enough?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should call this chapter "Molly to the rescue" (and fortunately for our detective duo...)

Molly was sitting at the bar, anxiously looking around her while trying not to attract someone’s attention. She didn’t feel up for chatting with strangers. Not when she knew Irene would come back soon.

Once they returned in the main room, the other woman has scanned the crowd with an inquisitive look, frowning when she noticed Sherlock and the fair-haired man with him weren’t there.

“Do you think he’s in danger?” Molly asked, already fretting over his friend.

Irene made a wry face.

“Don’t worry. At the very worst he might get caught with his pants down.”

She laughed a little when she saw the heavy flush across Molly’s face.

“Well, why don’t you get us a drink before the second round of the Dating Game starts, hum? And in the meantime, I’ll look for Casanova over there…”

There she was two minutes later – nursing a gin and tonic and wondering absent-mindedly in which state Irene would find his associate.

Molly shook his head, a light smile playing on her lips when she imagined the scene. If Irene was right, Sherlock would certainly endure months – even years – of relentless teasing.

For all their bickering and their attempts at outdoing the other, the two of them were thick as thieves, almost living in each other’s pocket. Back when they all were at university, you couldn’t see one without catching sight of the other.

Two brilliant minds, dazzling students and teachers alike with their wit and cleverness – when the university halls weren’t buzzing with the latest scandals and rumours about them.

Like many others, Molly has fallen under their spell. She smothered her laugh when Sherlock, who shared some classes with her, didn’t hesitate to loudly oppose their teachers and she became mute whenever Irene turned her sharp smile in her direction.

She developed a hopeless crush on Sherlock, admiring his rude boldness and cherishing the few moments when he dropped his guard, revealing his hesitations and his uneasiness around others. She never let drop anything about her feelings, but it must have been obvious, especially for Sherlock’s and Irene’s sharp gazes.

The other woman has found her during a party, a few months later, staring at Sherlock, who was heavily flirting with another student, and feeling the familiar heartbreak.

Irene has patted her hand, her smile gentle for once “Don’t waste your time waiting for him, Molly. He’ll never be the man you expect him to be. Move on.”

Molly has realized afterwards it has been the final nail in the coffin of her impossible infatuation.

They became friends. Or at least Molly became one of the lucky few gravitating around the duo. Good, reliable Molly, who succeeded in smuggling body parts for Sherlock’s experiments – “You’re spoiling him, Molly!” “Oh hush, Irene!” – or laughed when Irene was reminiscing about their university days, becoming sometimes so confident that she didn’t hesitate to tease the other woman.

_Sometimes? Try “always” then. Truth is you could get your fingers burned over this._

Molly sighed. It wasn’t the first time she told herself this.

_Don’t tease her so much._

_Take a step back otherwise it’ll end in tears and regrets._

It would be the right thing to do. She should be happy with the friendship and the camaraderie she already had and not hoping for more whenever she met Irene’s green gaze.

_That’s right. Don’t delude yourself anymore._

The voice suddenly booming in the loudspeakers made her jump on her seat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the second round of our great Dating Game is about to begin! Please take your seats…”

Molly frowned, aware that the speed-dating séance which has looked so fun earlier did little to arouse her interest now. She glanced at the few stragglers, who hastened to find their place again around their tables, hoping to find Irene, when she heard behind her

“Look at them! Poor little sheep bleating for love… Aren’t they pathetic?”

“That wasn’t very nice, Mister Barman…”

Molly turned round. A young woman was sitting at the other end of the counter, coquettishly smiling at the man in front of her, wiping up a glass. Molly was no sleuth, but she didn’t need it to be to deduce that the other woman was three sheets to the wind. And far from restraining her consumption, the barman was nudging her into sharing another glass with him.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart! You won’t let me drink alone…”

The woman giggled, obviously under his charm.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I would never do that to you, gorgeous…”

It happened so quickly Molly had barely the time to realize what was going on – the barman leaned over the counter, whispering in his companion’s ear and distracting her attention. At the same time, he pulled something from his pocket and poured its content in the woman’s glass.

Then he stood up again, flashing her a rakish smile.

“Wait for me, darling. I’m off in two minutes.”

“Okay, but don’t take too long, otherwise I’ll go without you!” the woman answered.

Her heart in her mouth, Molly saw her raising her glass to her lips. Her first impulse was to cry out and warn the woman, but she smothered it when she remembered what Irene said about the harasser she was trying to find.

With trembling fingers she pulled her phone from her bag and typed as quickly as she could.

 

“You’re the most despicable human being I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” Sherlock growled behind her.

Irene smirked.

“I’m touched, darling, truly. To obtain this title, which has until now been reserved for Mycroft… You’re spoiling me.” Her voice suddenly lost her teasing tone. “Stop whining like a baby, your case of blue balls isn’t worth it. The quicker you help me, the quicker you can finally get your leg over.”

“Don’t be so crass. And I should be lucky if John wants to speak to me again after the stunt you’ve pulled!”

Irene rolled her eyes.

Men were such drama queens, she thought, it was a wonder they get anything done.

“As if he wouldn’t wait for you. Come along, now, Molly is waiting…”

She felt her phone buzzing in her bag. Automatically she fished it out of it, unlocking the screen. What she read made her stop in her tracks while a surge of adrenalin pulsed through her veins.

“Meet me at the bar. Now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

_Oh Molly._

“Irene?”

She gripped Sherlock’s sleeve, pulling him along.

“No time to explain! Come!”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the case comes to an end...  
> You all know what it means!

John stared at the room’s entrance, wondering whether or not he wanted to follow Sherlock.

_Or would you rather stay here and cool your heels until he deigned to remember you?_

He shook his head. The truth was, since Irene has so rudely interrupted the kiss…

_You call that a kiss? Try rather “full make out session”!_

He sighed. Ok, the – _passionate, wonderful_ – snog he has shared with Sherlock – _the most infuriating and sexiest man he has ever met_ – has turned rather… heated.

He couldn’t imagine how it would have ended if Irene has not burst in on them.

Or rather, as his subconscious was taking a malicious pleasure in whispering in his ear, he could imagine all too well.

_Pants down, cocks pushing in the circle of our hands, mouths open, sucking each other’s tongue, smothering our moans until we come on each other’s skin…_

A fierce blush bloomed across John’s cheeks. To think that until today, he has never been interested in public sex. And now he has almost been caught red-handed.

_What have you done to me, Sherlock?_

He glanced again at the corridor in which Sherlock has disappeared a few minutes ago. When Sherlock has been drawn away from him thanks to his associate, his first impulse has been to follow him. Every instinct John has ever developed, when he finally stood up for himself during an umpteenth clash with his father or when he decided to enlist in the army, was screaming at him not to let Sherlock out of his sight.

But then, Sherlock hasn’t asked him to go with him. He has simply said “I’ll come back, I promise” before leaving. Irene has even flashed him a smug smile before disappearing. And John has been left alone in this back alley, second-guessing himself since then.

Should he wait? Should he go? Has he been a fool to believe Sherlock, to let him go so far under his skin John wasn’t even sure he could remove everything that has occurred between them?

And all this within a few hours.

_You’re really a fool, Watson._

He knew however he has not imagined the chemistry between Sherlock and him. And above everything – this connection, this feeling of understanding someone and being understood.

_“If I’m a consulting detective – the only one in the world, for your information – you can be whatever you want to be.”_

Trite words to be sure, but they sounded so earnest in Sherlock’s mouth…

_And what happened after has been brilliant._

Lost in his thoughts, a small smile on his lips, John didn’t hear at first the screams coming from inside the building.

“Catch him! He’s our man!”

It was Sherlock’s voice.

Sudden warmth flowed through John’s veins. Acting intuitively, he ran to the building’s corner – just in time to see a man crossing the road at full speed, Sherlock hot on his heels. The consulting detective turned in his head in his direction.

“John!”

He recognized the cry for what it was – a plea for help.

He couldn’t resist. He ran again, picking up speed until he drew level with Sherlock.

Fortunately, the street was well-lit as well as quite deserted – the ideal conditions for catching their suspect. The man has no chance to shake them off. As they were steadily gaining ground on him, John sensed the victory was near. And when his target intuitively slowed down as he ran into a busier road, John decided to take a chance. He put on a burst of speed, jumped on the suspect’s back and tackled him to the ground.

The man fell with a cry of distress.

Before he could rally, John pinned him down, sitting up until he could put a knee on the man’s lower back and holding his hands together in a strong grip.

“Don’t even try to move,” he growled.

“John!” Sherlock panted, going down in his knees. Without wasting any time, he searched the man’s pockets, ignoring his protests – “Get your hands off me!”. He suddenly pulled something with a “ha!” of satisfaction.

John screwed up his eyes. It was a small plastic vial without any label on it. Thanks to the lamplight, he could glimpse some oily residue stuck at the bottom.

“Is it…?”

“Most probably GHB,” Sherlock answered, still getting his breath back. “That scum tried to drug a woman at the bar.”

“Did he.” John tightened his grip on the man’s wrists, eliciting an enraged whimper from his mouth.

“Do you think he’s the one you were looking for?”

Sherlock shrugged.

“Might be.” He tapped the suspect on the cheek. “Be sure that we will go through your computer log files with a fine-tooth comb.”

John felt a vicious thrill when the suspect stiffened beneath him.

Footsteps echoed behind them.

“Sherlock!”

John turned his head round, glimpsing a silver-haired man in his police uniform striding to them.

“Ah Lestrade. Late as always.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes while the dark-skinned woman at his side pulled a disgusted face.

“Still playing the hero, Freak?”

“Donovan. Never a pleasure to see you.” Sherlock stood up, his face becoming more and more closed-off as he was facing the Yarders.

“Stop it, you two,” Lestrade snapped. “I don’t need your…”

He suddenly glimpsed John, still restraining the suspect.

“And who are you?”

Before John could answer though, Sherlock replied “He’s with me.”

And the sudden possessiveness in his voice warmed up John enough that he had to smother a besotted smile.

“What do you mean he’s…”

“We don’t have time for this, Gavin,” Sherlock broke off, ignoring the policeman’s protest – “It’s Greg for God’s sake!”. “I trust Irene has briefed you on that case?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, holding out a hand to John.

“We’ll leave this man in your competent hands, then. Come along, John.”

“One second, please.”

He leaned in to whisper in the suspect’s ear.

“You better pray being put under lock and key. Otherwise, I’ll find you and make you regret ever thinking of assaulting women.”

Shoving him against the ground one last time, John stood up under the befuddled stare of the Yarders. He had only eyes for Sherlock, who, judging from his discreet smirk, has heard – or deduced – what he has just said to his prisoner.

He deliberately caught Sherlock’s hand, still outstretched, in his. He ignored the whispers arising behind him – “Goodness. Now I’ll have to scratch my eyes out.” “Shut it, Donovan!” – and said to Sherlock, blue eyes twinkling with mischief “Ready when you are.”.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Irene's sweetness is discussed.  
> Or the fluff before the smut ^^

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

Irene smiled at Molly, who was hovering around her, her front teeth digging into her lower lip. A – _really cute_ – mother hen.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a scratch. I’ve endured worse,” she said, remembering her broken ankle when she has once fallen down the stairs in pursuit of a suspect.

Instead of being reassured, Molly looked away, a worried frown still on her face. It wouldn’t do at all, Irene thought. She caught Molly’s hand in hers, ignoring the thrill running through her veins at this touch.

“Molly, look at me.”

Her companion obeyed, her dark gaze lingering on the bruise blooming on Irene’s left cheekbone.

“I should have acted directly. I texted you instead and you got hurt.”

Irene squeezed Molly’s hand in a way she hoped was soothing. She noticed that the other woman didn’t seem uncomfortable. Neither did she try to move away.

“Stop blaming yourself. You did the right thing. If you haven’t seen this man trying to drug her…” She nodded at the young woman a few feet from them. She was complaining of dizziness and nausea, but in the end, she would be all right. A nurse, who was fortunately taking part in the Dating Game, has volunteered to take care of her while they were waiting for the emergency services to appear.

Irene winced when she remembered their attempt at apprehending the suspect. In retrospect, she could see they haven’t been subtle enough. When Sherlock and she have entered the room again, they have spotted right away the so called barman, cajoling the young woman into following him out of the building. They have tried to look unconcerned while coming closer to the bar, but the man has glimpsed them and become alarmed. Dropping all pretence, Irene has rushed in his direction, but he has swiftly reacted, pushing the young woman off her stool and sending her sprawling against Irene. She has been unable to stop herself falling, crashing to the ground and hurting herself in the process.

Fortunately Sherlock has been there, dashing after their man. Molly has helped her standing up before taking care of the young woman, who was already suffering from the first effects of the drug.

She sighed. Not her most glorious moment, she thought.

Well, it was no use crying over spilled milk. Especially since she has already informed DI Lestrade of the suspect’s escape. The police won’t take long to come over there and rummage among the suspect’s personal belongings.

I might as well ease matters for them, Irene thought before plastering on her most winning smile on her lips and giving a Facetime call to _Hot in Love_ ’s representative, ready to explain what has happened.

One hour later, Lestrade and his team have come and gone with plastic bags full of evidence, some ruffled feathers – especially among Hot in Love’s officials – have been smoothed and Irene has gained a splitting headache. The police’s intervention has put a definitive damper on the _Dating Game_ and only a handful of participants has remained to enjoy the bar and the dance floor.

“Here, take this,” Molly whispered to her, giving her an aspirin. “You’re sure you don’t want to let someone check on this?” she asked, looking at Irene’s bruised face.

Irene shook her head, swallowing the bitter pill with a disgusted expression.

“That’s not necessary.”

_Unless you want to kiss it better?_

Irene groaned. That was really not her day. First the botched job - even if, according to what the police’s team sent to the suspect’s flat has found there, it was very likely he was their harasser – and then the frankly ridiculous way she has injured herself.

Her phone pinged.

_Everything all right? SH_

_Yes. No thanks to you_ , she viciously replied.

Of course, counting upon Sherlock to deal with the post-investigation formalities was like releasing a bull in a china shop. It didn’t stop Irene from trying to make him feel guilty of having left her on her own.

_Drama queen. I asked you if you were hurt. SH_

_And if you needed my help. SH._

Irene snorted, while typing her answer.

_I believe your exact wording was “Should I really put in an appearance again?”_

_Oh please. You knew what I meant. SH._

_Besides, I bet Molly has helped you, didn’t she? SH._

Irene’s fingers hovered over the keyboard.

She hated the fact he was right.

Molly has indeed remained at her side, listening to her explanations when she told what happened to _Hot In Love’s_ officials or briefing Lestrade. Molly has contributed when needed. She has kept an eye on the young woman until the emergency services have finally appeared.

Without speaking of the fact that without her, the harasser might not have been put under lock and key.

Molly, who was standing next to her and watching her out of the corner of her eye.

Irene’s phone pinged again.

_I’m right, am I? SH._

Damn the man and his inflated ego.

_Fuck off_ , she typed. _Or rather go and fuck your soldier._

She switched her phone off. Let her have the last word – even if it was rather petty of her.

Molly shook her head, giving a light laugh.

“You’re quarrelling again.”

“The only effective kind of communication between us. You know the drill.”

“That’s not true,” Molly protested. “You can be sweet to each other when you want to be.”

“I would rather be sweet to you.”

It burst forth from her mouth before Irene could think of it. She felt herself flushing while Molly stared at her wide-eyed.

_Good job, Irene. Real smooth talking._

“I mean…”

“Are you serious?” Molly broke off. “Because if it’s a joke…”

She didn’t carry on, biting her lip and staring at her shoes.

Irene has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She took a step forward, closing the gap between her and Molly. She leaned in, breathing in the other woman’s perfume. A light, floral scent when you first smelled it, which revealed itself to be rather heady and alluring afterwards.

Like the woman wearing it.

Irene lightly stroked Molly’s cheek with his forefinger, fighting the temptation to bury her face in this soft neck.

“Molly…”

Her companion raised her head. Irene felt her pulse racing when she saw Molly’s heated gaze.

“Yeah?”

“You said earlier you came here, hoping to explore… other options.”

Molly’s cheeks turned red but she didn’t look away.

Irene took her courage in both hands.

“If you still want it, I’m rather in the mood to be your guinea-pig.”

Molly’s smile, when it bloomed on her lips, was radiant.

“You were right, you know,” she said before giving a stunned Irene a quick kiss on the mouth. “You can be rather sweet when you want to be.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in two parts is the best kind, don't you think? :)

_Fuck off_. _Or rather go and fuck your soldier._

Sherlock smirked before switching off his phone. He seemed to have touched a sore spot of his associate with this deduction.

He didn’t know why, really. It was quite obvious that Molly would stay behind to help Irene.

And possibly more if both women got the opportunity to spend time with each other.

_And speaking of opportunities…_

He glanced at John. They haven’t talked much since the arrest of the suspect. Partly since Lestrade has insisted that they fulfilled some necessary – and very tedious – formalities before they could finally get out of the police’s clutches; Partly because Sherlock for once found himself at a loss for words.

When he was waiting for John to give his final statement to the DI, he has wondered why this ordinary-looking man, with his patched-up old leather jacket, a blue jumper that Sherlock’s dad would not have disowned, grey-blond hair which didn’t seem to know the benefit of conditioner, has succeeded where all the others – including some of the most seductive men Sherlock had ever the pleasure to meet – have failed.

How could John Watson nearly make him forget he had a case to solve?

How could he distract his attention in such a way?

Sherlock didn’t know.

And then he has remembered how his companion hasn’t hesitated to jump on the suspect’s back, pushing him to the ground.

How John had kissed him earlier, growling “You make me crazy” in Sherlock’s neck before touching him with a passion so intense it had made him go weak at the knees.

At this moment, John has raised his head, his dark blue gaze meeting Sherlock’s eyes and winking at him impishly. Sherlock has blushed and Lestrade, who hasn’t missed a scrap of this exchange, has rolled his eyes before saying

“I never thought I would see the day when…”

“No one has asked for your opinion, Gerald,” Sherlock has cut him off. “Now are we free to go or do you really want to spend your Friday evening with us?”

“God forbid. And you know it’s Greg, don’t you, you cheeky bastard?”

“Lestrade, I do believe my parents were married when I was born. Unlike yours, I might say.”

The DI has spluttered indignantly something about insulting behavior while John has tried to hide his laugh by coughing in his fist.

And now they were both – _finally_ – alone, walking to Angelo’s where Sherlock has suggested to grab a bite. He had no idea what to say. Or rather how to say it.

Should he wait until they were seated at the restaurant to start talking and see where it goes from there?

Or, on the contrary, should he be more forward, taking advantage of the shadows draping themselves over the city, and push his companion against the nearest wall for a heated snog?

This mere idea made his blood boil.

Gosh, he hasn’t felt so awkward since he has been in his first year at university.

Unable to endure any longer the silence between them, Sherlock opened his mouth but, as if he had read his mind, John beat him to it.

“Hope for your sake Lestrade isn’t the type to bear a grudge.”

“Oh please,” Sherlock instinctively retorted. “He has already been through much worse as far as I’m concerned. I should tell you the night when…”

He suddenly broke off. He has been about to say “the night when Lestrade had to arrest me in Montrose club.”

When he has been in full drag queen mode.

It has taken five minutes for the DI to become aware of _Ma belle_ ’s true identity.

And a full week for him to be able to look at Sherlock without blushing to the roots of his hair.

“When what?” John asked, looking at him, a soft concern shining in his eyes.

Sherlock bit his lip. Should he take another risk and come clean to this man who has so far always managed to surprise him? Should he lie and divert the conversation onto more neutral subjects?

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Lost in his thoughts, Sherlock hasn’t been aware that his companion has come closer. From where they stood, a single lamplight revealed John smiling at him.

“It’s okay, you know. You don’t have to tell me.”

“But I want to,” Sherlock blurted, making up his mind on the spot. He took a deep breath before carrying on. “I should tell you the night when Lestrade had to arrest me while I was dressed up as… Well, you can say as a woman.”

He looked away. There, he has said it. It was quite ironic to think that, no matter how many times he has made this coming-out, it never got easier.

He still remembered Mycroft’s shell-shocked silence when he has discovered his younger brother’s nighttime activities. He hasn’t been able to hide his disgust and contempt quite successfully, either.

“Wait, you mean…”

“I’m a drag queen, yes.” Sherlock cut him off, anxious and impatient at the same time. “Well, sometimes. Obviously.”

Great, now he was babbling. He fought the temptation to roll his eyes at his own stupidity and focused on his companion. He didn’t dare looking at John – no need after all, he could quite well deduce what his silence meant.

So much for thinking he was different.

Sherlock steeled himself for another version of “It has been nice meeting you but now I have to dash off so goodbye”.

“Sherlock…”

Unable to resist any longer, Sherlock ventured to look at John.

And he felt his mouth go dry when he met the former soldier’s dark, heated gaze.

They stared at each other, each one itching to touch the other.

John finally broke the silence, saying in a husky voice “If I tell you I’m hungry and not for food, do you…?”

He didn’t have the opportunity to finish. Sherlock took a step forward, pulling John up against himself. Their lips met in a heated, devouring kiss.

Sherlock reached down, cupping John’s arse in his palms and smiling when he felt his companion returning the favour.

He drew back just enough to lick John’s slick, swollen lips with teasing touches. He leaned in a bit more, nipping the soft skin of his neck, smothering a groan when John moaned and tilted his head up to leave him better access.

“Come with me,” he whispers, his hands stroking the strong planes of John’s back. “Come with me and I’ll give you the show of your life.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert - they (barely) make it to the bed.

Sherlock barely had the time to close the door behind him before John pinned him against it. Walking to 221b Baker Street has been a sheer torture. If he hadn’t known that Sherlock’s flat was just 5 minutes away, he would have taken advantage of every shadowy nook and cranny on their way to kiss and taste a bit more the beautiful man next to him.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he growled, nuzzling Sherlock’s pale neck where a hickey of respectable size was already showing. “I had to have you.”

“John, we… mmmf!”

He nipped this protest in the bud, tracing with his tongue the seam of Sherlock’s plushy, made-for-kissing-him lips before opening his mouth and licking his way into Sherlock’s mouth. Had he been not so engrossed in his companion, John would have been a bit ashamed by the way he was pressing himself against Sherlock, his hands instinctively seeking bare skin, slipping under the untucked shirt.

But it was much too late to feel anything of this kind. Fiery passion got him in its clutches and John didn’t want to get free.

Not when he could feel through the respective layers of their jeans the hard, rigid line of Sherlock’s cock.

_Hello there, beautiful. Wanna come out and play?_

He was about to unzip Sherlock’s trousers when his companion drew away just enough to say

“Wait! Stop!

Dousing him into cold water would have done the same impression. John froze on the spot, snapping back to reality while his heady arousal was swiftly replaced with nauseating fear.

Oh God. What was he doing exactly? He immediately took a step back, babbling “I’m sorry, I thought you… I didn’t realize that you weren’t…”

He has been so sure that Sherlock and him were on the same page, how could he not… ?

Sherlock frowned before reaching out, catching John’s belt loops in his long fingers and pulling him gently against him.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered, his lips grazing John’s cheek. “But I would rather carry on our activities without waking up my landlady, if it’s all the same to you…”

“Your… Oh!” John gasped out, relief flooding him. Turning his head, he glimpsed the 221a door through which he could hear the BBC newsreader’s posh voice.

“Mrs Hudson,” Sherlock went on, punctuating each word with a delicate kiss on every part of John’s face he could reach. “65 years old. Baker extraordinaire, Aston Martin driver and like a second mother to me.”

John barely heard Mrs Hudson’s description. He was sure it was amazing, but how could he focus on Sherlock’s words while every sense of his got slowly but surely inflamed under the man’s touch?

As though he has sensed John’s surrender, Sherlock trapped him into a tight embrace, putting his large hands on John’s arse, mercilessly squeezing and fondling his cheeks. At the same time he canted up his hips, rubbing his still clothed length against John.

It was maddening. It was passionate. It was also suffused with a tenderness John has rarely experienced with his former lovers. He closed his eyes, his mouth seeking Sherlock’s until their lips met again in a crushing kiss.

When they drew up, gasping for breath, John was so close he could have wept. But Sherlock seemed to have other plans.

“Come along, my brave soldier.”

Without any warning, he cupped John’s bottom in his hands and lifted him up. John let out a surprised yell, eliciting a “Shhh!” from his companion, while his legs instinctively wrapped around Sherlock’s waist.

“And now,” Sherlock whispered, possessively stroking John’s thighs and behind, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “let’s go upstairs.”

 

John didn’t know how they made it to the flat.

Or rather – how they managed not to fall in the stairs while they attacked each other in a frenzy of filthy kisses, wet sounds echoing in the stairwell, and gropes which turned from sensual to downright pornographic. Besides his iron biceps, Sherlock must have magic fingers – it was the only explanation John’s lust-addled brain has found for the fact that his companion succeeded in unzipping his jeans and half-unbuttoning his shirt while carrying him upstairs.

When Sherlock slammed the flat’s door with his foot, John was nearly begging.

“Sherlock… Please…”

If he expected Sherlock to put him down, he was very much mistaken, as he found himself back against the hard wood. But it didn’t matter, as his companion was rutting against him in the most delicious way, his hard cock tantalisingly nudging his balls.

“I could fuck you like this, you know…”

Sherlock’s dark, low voice would be the death of him.

“But I’d rather like you in my bed.”

A few seconds later, John found himself lying down on the blanket. Looming over him, Sherlock stared at him, his curly hair a complete mess.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“What are you waiting for then?” John teased, wriggling his hips before swiftly removing his shoes.

“Oh, you think you’re in command, here?” Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. “Let me correct you…”

He quickly undressed before bending down to pull on John’s jeans and let them slide down on the floor, removing his socks in the process.

“Hurry up,” John growled. He couldn’t stop himself from rolling his hips and gasped when he felt Sherlock’s hands stroking the bare skin of his legs.

“You’re a bossy one, aren’t you?”

He didn’t expect any answer, his fingers swiftly sliding under John’s pants.

“And you’re still overdressed.”

John found himself disrobed in a handful of seconds, Sherlock throwing his shirt off the bed before lowering himself onto John, holding up his weight on his hands. John didn’t waste time, draping his arms around Sherlock’s neck, pulling him down, moaning when he felt the first skin-on-skin contact.

“Kiss me.”

“As you wish,” Sherlock replied before doing his best to make John go crazy with lust.

Weeping cocks sliding against each other, tongues lavishly licking into their mouths… They couldn’t last. And when John felt Sherlock’s middle finger stroking and probing his entrance, he quickly retorted “Do it. I want you to.”

“You’re sure?” Sherlock panted against his face.

Instead of replying, John rolled on his side before getting up on all fours.

He heard Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath behind him and couldn’t help but looking over his shoulder and give him a saucy grin.

“You want an engraved invitation or is it enough?”

For sole answer, Sherlock lightly swatted him on his arse.

‘And to think I promised you a show…”

“Next time, then? I’m game if you are,” John promptly replied, hoping to hide his sudden fit of nerves under a bland voice. Sherlock gently chuckled and John remembered he couldn’t conceal anything from this man.

_But I could always try._

“Next time then.”

He reached out for the drawer, getting the lube and a condom. John’s arousal jumped into triple time when he heard the slick sounds of Sherlock working his hand over his cock before putting on the condom; It has been so long since he has bottomed, he would be lying if he told himself he wasn’t nervous. But he trusted Sherlock to make him feel good – a trust as instinctive as it was deep, taking root in everything which happened this night.

Sherlock put his large hands on his hips, stroking his back, his thighs before inserting one finger into John.

“Did I tell you how lovely you are?”

John snorted.

“You don’t have to romance me, you know.”

Sherlock draped himself over his back, adding another finger in his massage.

“But I want to, John. If you’ll let me.”

His other hand stroked John’s belly, his pecs, pinching a nipple. John gasped, pleasure running through his veins in a heady wave. He didn’t realize a string of “Please” was coming from his mouth.

“Please what?” Sherlock groaned in his ear. “Tell me you’re hungry for my cock. Tell me you want me to fuck you until you see stars.”

“Yes, please!” John cried out, sticking his arse out, desperate to finally get the release he so desired.

 

Sherlock drew back, one hand on John’s hip, the other aligning his cock before pushing in slowly. John gritted his teeth before doing his best to relax. He heard himself moaning and Sherlock answered in kind, each one lost in pleasure. He pumped his cock slowly in and out – a delicious torture which made John’s fingers clenching the blanket, his open mouth letting out incoherent sounds. He has forgotten how much he loved being in this position, vulnerable and incredibly powerful at the same time.

Receiving pleasure and giving it in spades.

He felt his muscles tightening around Sherlock’s cock.

“John… I can’t…”

“Fuck me!”

Sherlock swore loudly before complying. John wrapped a hand around his cock, jerking it, keeping pace with Sherlock’s harder thrusts. His heart is beating a furious tempo in his chest, the pleasure is flooding his body and he’s close, so close…

Sherlock’s body slammed into him faster and faster. John positively howled when his body spasmed, his fist flying over his cock while his come spurted all over the blanket. Sherlock seized his hips in a white-knuckled grip before coming. John felt the gush of wetness deep inside him, heat soaking into his very bones, Sherlock’s gasping breaths behind him, still pushing himself into him until he collapsed down on the blanket. After a while he reached out to John, who let himself be gathered in Sherlock’s arms.

Being held like this is heaven, he thought, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue (of sorts).  
> Hope you all enjoyed the story - and special thanks to my dear PatPrecieux! I really hope you like this :)

_From Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler – 01:23 am_

_I take it you solved the case, then?_

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 07:30 am_

_Sorry, phone switched off, didn’t see your text until now. And yes, we did!_

_From Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler – 07:44 am_

_Congratulations, my dear girl! I only asked because dear Sherlock certainly celebrated it last night :-)_

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 08:03 am_

_I see he has taken my advice, then…_

_From Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler – 08:05 am_

_… Do I want to know?_

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 08:07 am_

_Maybe not. But I’ll advise you to invest in earplugs._

_From Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler – 08:09 am_

_Irene!_

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 08:10 am_

_Oh please. We both know you would be beside yourself with joy if *dear* Sherlock could keep his soldier for more than one night._

_From Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler – 08:13 am_

_A soldier? How interesting. Maybe you can tell me more over a nice lunch at this place you’re so fond of…Let’s say at 10 am?_

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 08:16 am_

_Deal._

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 08:20 am_

_Oh and Mrs Hudson?_

_From Mrs Hudson to Irene Adler – 08:25 am_

_Yes dear?_

_From Irene Adler to Mrs Hudson – 08:40 am_

_Book a table for three!_


End file.
